


Walk You Home

by ContreParry



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Fenris (Dragon Age), Protectiveness, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Anders often works late in dangerous places, but Fenris is there to walk him home. A fic for Sushimao for the Fenders Wintersend Gift Exchange.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	Walk You Home

**Author's Note:**

> I was happy to write this gift for Sushimao for the Fenders Wintersend Gift Exchange! It's always a joy to write in gift exchanges, and I had a good time working on this one!

“Healer,” Anya whispered urgently as she passed by the cellar door, where Anders was busy healing Gerard’s busted up jaw and broken fingers. “Healer!”

“Hmmm?” Anders hummed. He was not really paying attention to Anya or anything around him at the moment. His mind was elsewhere, visualizing where the bones in Gerard’s hand snapped and drifted off course. He then dedicated himself to seeing those bones whole and mended and in their proper place. Anders’ whole being was devoted to the task at hand. That is, he was devoted to healing until Justice helpfully reminded him that it was rude to ignore people, that ignoring someone’s pleas for help was cruel and unjust and-

“Sorry, Anya, didn’t catch that. Hand’s all fixed up now, Gerard, but it will be bruised so don’t go around injuring it again for the next week. Did you punch a wall or something?” Anders asked with a grin. Gerard’s robust laughter bounced off the cellar walls.

Anders found that it was easy to make jokes and smile when he dropped in on his patients. House calls were a welcome respite from his chaotic life, a soothing balm on his frayed nerves. His clinic was cramped and stressful. Being forced to remain inside the dark, two room building made him feel like a rat cornered by a hungry predator, waiting for a Templar to kick the door down and finally (finally!) be done with him. Anders knew he did good work, that he was helping people and that that was all he could do, but he and Justice often agreed that it felt like the work was unending. Might as well empty the sea with a sieve, for all the good they did in Kirkwall. No matter the healing, there was always more to be done. Sometimes Anders just wanted to _scream_ from sheer frustration and exhaustion!

But a house call was different. Anders would walk outside and stretch out his cramping muscles. He’d enjoy the sunshine on his face. He walked unafraid, because between his work and Varric’s bribery Anders knew the people of Lowtown would keep their healer safe. He and Justice had a chance to _breathe_ and take in the sights and sounds of Kirkwall. Justice didn’t mind the little luxury (they were going to do important work in the near future, after all), and Anders soaked in the free time like it was a steaming hot bath. When he finally arrived to his destination, Anders was always welcomed warmly. The work was never as dire as the emergencies brought into his clinic, and Anders could take the time to speak with his patients, their families, their friends. He could take the time to socialize, and the company was as welcome as his walks to and from the clinic . As an added bonus, his house call clients often let him partake in a meal, and that meant that the coin that would have bought his supper could go back into the clinic.

Of course, work at The Rose was different. He got coin for his troubles, a bottle of wine on holidays (not top shelf quality, but decent enough), and the gratitude of the workers at Lusine’s fine establishment. Sometimes the cook, through a kitchen maid, gave him some day old bread. They ran a business, after all, and couldn’t exactly spare what was in the pot for a healer, no matter how talented he was. But, Anders thought fondly as he watched Gerard flex his fingers and gingerly touch his bruised (but unbroken) jaw, sometimes the work was reward enough.

Gerard finished his own self-check up as Anders packed up the contents of his medical bag- tools, bandages, potions, silk thread, needles- he was running miserably low on everything these days. Maker’s Balls, he brewed all those potions last week and he used up the last one to fix up Gerard’s hand!

“Walls, Healer? Nah, it was the usual. Bloke didn’t want to pay Madame and got a little rough. Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Gerard proudly stated, and he rose to his feet and grinned down at Anders. “Back to work for me, then! Thanks for fixin’ it up right quick, Healer. Owe you a drink, next time you come ‘round.”

“Come to the clinic if you have any trouble, understand?” Anders ordered as Gerard clambered up the cellar stairs. “I’m there most days, and if I’m gone Lirene’s got enough medical training to see to you as well. Now, Anya-“ Anders looked over at the stout, stern woman with her mighty frown. Madame Lusine might be the owner of The Blooming Rose, but it was Anya who was in charge. The brothel would fall apart without her management and well placed bribes. Maker’s Balls, the only reason the blasted Templars hadn’t ransacked the place on the vague rumor that a Mage might reside in its walls was because of Anya’s shrewd bribery! It also helped that Cullen seemed terrified of her. Good, Anders thought sourly. Man could stand to be afraid more often.

“Sorry for ignoring you. What was it you needed?” Anders asked politely, because the quickest way to get in Anya’s good books was to be polite. The second quickest way was to gift her a bottle of mead. But as mead cost money and Anders had no coin to spare, politeness was his currency.

“That elf, the one that follows Messere Hawke like a guard dog-“ Anya began with a huff.

“Fenris?” Anders asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Yes. Well, he’s here. Without Hawke,” Anya said pointedly. “Again.”

“If he’s just a customer it’s none of my business,” Anders said quickly as he mentally calculated how many times he and Fenris happened to be in the Rose at the same time. Three times in the past fortnight, at least! The Rose wasn’t cheap, if you were a customer. What was Fenris even doing here? The answer was obvious, but Anders tried to ignore it.

Anders didn’t want to think of Fenris soliciting the workers at the Rose. He didn’t want to think of Fenris pounding someone into the mattress, didn’t want to think of those green eyes going dark and hazy with lust. Was he talkative in bed? He probably had a filthy mouth, said all sorts of dirty sweet things to his lovers, he had the sort of voice that made a man (or lady, Anders was sure) turn to a puddle of need and desire.

Fuck. He was thinking about Fenris and sex. Again. Anders sighed and clasped his bag closed.

Fenris was a gorgeous man. Anders could acknowledge that much. He was all lean muscles and sharp angles, as dangerously beautiful as a tiger. If it weren’t for his obvious distaste for him and his rather important work in Kirkwall, Anders would flirt with the man. He was beautiful and had a sense of humor, which were all the qualifications Anders needed before he jumped someone’s bones. Fenris was exactly the sort of bad choice that Anders would have gleefully tumbled into bed with and probably regretted in the morning. Or not. He wasn’t the type to regret bedroom encounters, no matter how sour the personality of his partner. Anders knew himself well enough to know that he had a tendency to forgive anyone with a pretty face, and Fenris had a very pretty face. But not just a pretty face, oh no. He was a good deal more than pretty, or else Anders would have long abandoned his foolish pining.

His musings on Fenris stirred Justice into wakefulness, piqued the spirit’s interest. Justice didn’t quite understand physical attraction, but even Anders picked up on Justice’s admiration of Fenris. Bold. Daring. Courageous. Strong. And, of course, there was the lyrium. The point was, even Justice found Fenris appealing, and all the while Fenris looked at the two of them as if they were garbage to be thrown out on the street!

Ah, well, such is life. Anders was accustomed to disappointment.

“Well, healer? The elf?” Anya asked, pulling Anders out of his reverie.

“Fenris isn’t here on my account, Anya. I promise, he’s here for his own business,” Anders asserted.

“But he isn’t! Well, he ordered some wine, true, but he’s sitting at the corner table and glaring at everyone. Awfully unsettling, you know. He’s scaring customers,” Anya retorted. She continued to stare up at Anders pointedly, clearly expecting him to go up and do something about Fenris being Fenris in the main room. Like he could do anything about Fenris brooding and being a sour puss! But Anya continued to stare, and Anders felt sufficiently cowed. He sighed and rose to his feet, his joints creaking with every movement. Talking to Fenris was the very last thing he wanted to do right now, but if he must...

“I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you, Healer! I knew you would handle this,” Anya said, all brightness and cheer. Anya hurried him out of the cellar and up into the back halls before running to the kitchens.

“Probably going to bite the cook’s head off,” Anders muttered as he shouldered the door open and walked into the reception hall, as Lusine called it. It was more like the main room of a tavern, but Lusine had the wooden floors covered in fine carpets to lend the room an air of elegance. Chandeliers imported from Orlais hung from the ceiling. The heavy, dark red brocade curtains hung from the windows in great, dramatic swaths of fabric. The vast room felt small and intimate, and Anders struggled to find Fenris in the dim lighting. He scanned the dark corners, searching and searching and- there! Think of a demon and lo, they appear.

Fenris was at the corner table as Anya said, half hidden in shadow. He always lurked there, when Anders spotted him at The Rose. This was just the first time he was planning to speak with the man, that was all. The dim candle light reflected off his pale hair and the lyrium embedded in his skin. He looked like the tragic hero of a romantic tale, all dark bloodiness and sad eyes while he drank his wine and looked down his nose at those around him. Eat your heart out, Messere Marcy!

“Fenris,” Anders said politely as he approached the corner table. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Anders,” Fenris replied, and he drained his cup of wine in one great gulp. How rude! Anders wasn’t so terrible that Fenris needed alcohol to endure their conversation, surely! Fenris rose with one smooth motion and tucked his chair under the table with a grace and refinement Anders envied. Of course Fenris knew how to make everything look elegant and perfect!

“If you are ready to depart this fine establishment,” Fenris’ sarcasm wasn’t exactly hard to miss, his tone was so dry Anders could feel the crackle of derision on his skin, “I will escort you back to your clinic.”

Well, that statement raised Anders’ hackles. An escort? Absurd! He drew himself up to his full height and lifted his chin, never mind the fact that he was taller than Fenris and didn’t need those extra inches. Justice was already scolding him for being childish- Anders, this is foolish posturing and the elf has done nothing worthy of scorn- but Anders couldn’t help it. If Fenris would just look at him like a person instead of some sort of pest! If he just- ugh! Fenris was impossible!

“I’m not a child or swooning debutante, Fenris,” Anders retorted harshly. “I hardly need an escort!”

“You are walking the Red Lantern District at night. Alone. All the way to Darktown. That is foolish,” Fenris pointed out. He always did this, Anders thought with some bitterness. He always made himself sound so reasonable, and Anders so foolish. He gave one derisive look and said something cutting, and what else was Anders to do but fight back? Then it descended into petty bickering and trying to cause the deeper hurt, and they’d both slink off to lick their wounds.

“And I’m a fool, I suppose?” Anders muttered.

Fenris shrugged his shoulders, as if to say “if the pointy shoes fit,” which only fanned the flames of Anders’s ire. Anders breathed in deeply as he tried to control his temper. It was only a shrug. Anders had heard worse. Maker’s Breath, he’d said worse about himself all the time, Fenris’s opinion really shouldn’t matter so much. And yet… Anders pursed his lips and buried the hurt deep into his heart. He could mope later, he only had to make a quick egress. Gathering the shredded remains of his dignity about him like a king’s robes, Anders lifted his chin and looked down his nose.

“I’ve been doing this for years, Fenris, and I’ve been just fine. Did Hawke send you?” Anders didn’t wait for Fenris’ reply. “Of course she did, little busybody, you’d think all her responsibilities in Hightown would keep her from sticking her nose in other people’s business-“

“Hawke did not send me. Or Varric. I came on my own volition. Now, your clinic?” Fenris asked, and the remark killed the tirade that was building in Anders’s throat. Wordlessly, he turned on his heel. Wordlessly, he crossed the room. Wordlessly, he left The Rose, and wordlessly, Anders wondered what in Thedas possessed Fenris to show up to keep an eye on him.

Probably suspects the worse of me, Anders thought glumly as he walked down the street, Fenris following him like a shadow. Perhaps he was looking for hints of blood magic, or demons. Of course, Fenris could also be following Anders out of the sheer joy of knowing that he was causing Anders distress. Andraste help him if Fenris ever realized that Anders found him attractive! Anders doubted that his heart would survive the ordeal. Fenris would undoubtedly tear it out and stomp on it, and not in the metaphorical sense. Until that fateful day, Fenris would do whatever he pleased, because he was Fenris and took perverse delight in driving Anders mad (even if he didn’t know why).

Well, perhaps that was an unkind thought, Anders quickly amended when he felt Justice’s disapproval ring through him like a deep Chantry bell. Fenris did what he liked because he was Fenris, and he took joy in being his own man. If he managed to irritate a Mage while doing so, it only seemed to multiply his happiness. Justice still wasn’t pleased with the uncharitable cast of Anders’s thoughts (damn the spirit for his fondness for lyrium and a good sob story!). Anders rolled his eyes and addressed Fenris, who was still walking behind him.

“You don’t have to sulk and brood in the shadows like Penicillin Starsky, you know. A bit of conversation would do you good, Fenris,” Anders said, and he tried not to take too much pleasure in Fenris’ puzzled expression. The quizzical cast of his eyebrows and the way he narrowed his pretty olive green eyes was, in a word, adorable. It was like when you played with a kitten chasing a yarn ball, and then took the string from their paws and dangled it above their noses. Where did the string go? It was right there under their paw! Fenris’ expression was akin to that bewilderment, the unsettled, unsteady look of someone who had the carpet pulled out from under them.

Good, Anders thought, ignoring Justice’s scolding. Fenris could use some light confusion, now and then.

“Excuse me?” Fenris finally asked, and Anders rolled his eyes.

“Conversation, Fenris. You can’t glower at everyone you meet, you need to talk to people-”

“No. The name. I believe you meant Messere Farcy,” Fenris interrupted. “From the novel, the- kaffas, what was the title?” The way he muttered that curse under his breath did things to Anders, things that he really shouldn’t be thinking of in the Red Lantern District! It didn’t help that Fenris was talking about romantic novels, the sort that Anders loved to read when he had the chance of it. Did he like this one, the tale of Farcy, Marcy, Starsky, whatever he was? Did he read others? What did he think of romance in general? Did he ever- Anders winced and picked up the pace. No. He was not going down that road. Wondering if he and Fenris had anything in common, if Fenris could show him anything more that dislike- that sort of questioning would lead him down a sad, sad road. Anders wasn’t about to do that, not today.

“Damned if I know. Fitzbilly whatever his name was, brooder extraordinaire. We don’t need one running about in Kirkwall,” Anders said firmly, and he turned down an alleyway as a shortcut to his clinic. It was darker, true, and less people to run to should there be trouble, but it shaved down several minutes of walking time and Anders didn’t want to risk blathering in front of Fenris and accidentally revealing that he found the blasted bastard attractive. He may be a risk-taker, but Anders knew that that was too great of a risk to take.

“As I do not make a solid hundred gold pieces per annum on investments and land ownership, we are all quite safe from the hordes of young gentlewomen seeking a husband. Or gentlemen,” Fenris retorted. “And Farcy hardly broods, he’s- perhaps he does brood, a little, but he isn’t sour on _purpose_.” He almost seemed flustered as he explained himself, which made Anders pause. Fenris, flustered? Man had ice in his veins, nothing seemed to unsettle him! And even though asking questions and looking deeper was dangerous, Anders was always curious to a fault.

“Really?” Anders asked, and he heard rather than saw Fenris shuffle his feet from side to side.

“Yes! He’s… uncertain of himself. Doesn’t know how- he is not skilled with people. Which is what separates him from Wicket. Wicket is charming, Farcy is not, yet it is Farcy who is the hero, who does what is right without the need for praise or acknowledgement,” Fenris explained, and the passionate defense of a character warmed Anders’ shriveled up heart.

“Fitzbilly’s still a brooder,” Anders declared, just to be a little contrarian and see that passion erupt from Fenris again. “How long do you reckon he spent writing that letter to Zia?”

“It couldn’t have been more than… sixteen hours? She got it the day after he… proposed,” Fenris mused, and Anders glanced over at Fenris just in time to see him wince. “And he wandered the park that morning because he wanted to run into her…”

“He knows how to give an apology, I’ll give him that much,” Anders chuckled. “‘Let me set the record straight about Wicket and me, and also I screwed over your sister Janelle’s love match and it’s worse than you ever suspected.’”

“Fasta vass, he is high-handed,” Fenris muttered, which drew a laugh from Anders. Andraste’s Tits, the man could be funny! It made the longing a little sharper, but Anders would horde away these little moments of companionship. Fenris didn’t _always_ hate him, hate them, after all. That was enough, for now.

“How did you get your hands on… ah, ‘A Fine Match!’ That’s the title. Didn’t seem like your manor’s stocked up with books of a non-magical nature,” Anders remarked as they exited the alleyway. Fenris stopped lurking behind him like a shadow, and easily bounded up to match his long stride. They walked side by side through the mostly empty streets, cold air biting at Anders’ exposed skin. It was… pleasant.

Anders would treasure this.

“Sebastian suggested it as light reading. I borrowed the novel from Hawke,” Fenris replied. “Good practice. You?”

“Read it in Kinloch. We put on a play, once. I played the mother,” Anders explained, and Fenris’s bark of laughter echoed down the narrow streets of Lowtown.

“No,” Fenris retorted. “I refuse to believe it, you were Wicket or the Templar cousin, or- you played Chantry Brother Rollins, didn’t you? You didn’t play Missus Dennet!”

“Yes! Hold on, I can imitate her-” Anders cleared his throat before pitching his voice into a high falsetto. “‘Messere Dennet, you don’t know what I suffer!”

Fenris’ giggle nearly made Anders’ heart burst. It was a deep sort of trill that rattled him to his core, echoed in his bones with a resonance that made it seem like all was right with the world. His dark cheeks were flushed a deep berry red, his eyes were alight with merriment, and his smile- Maker, he was gorgeous when he smiled! If Anders wasn’t already a little soft for the man, despite the dangers of liking a man who hated you, this little laugh would have done him in.

“I did that,” Anders thought with pride. “He’s not one to smile often, but I did it. I made it happen.”

“You- how was your performance received?” Fenris asked politely, stifling his giggle.

“Applause all around. Even got a honey cake, which, well, that didn’t happen often,” Anders shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad in the Circle. Not always.”

“But still, you left,” Fenris murmured.

“I wanted freedom. So did you,” Anders pointed out. A cage is still a cage, no matter how padded and gilded it was inside. Anders could never live within a cage.

“I… I didn’t always. I didn’t know,” Fenris murmured. “I envy you, for knowing. For being certain of your wants. It feels as though I am fumbling for knowledge of myself.”

That. That was unexpected. Not in a bad way, of course not, but Anders didn’t anticipate (could have never anticipated) Fenris being candid and open with him of all people! It was the sort of disclosure that needed to be treated with care and respect. Anders cleared his throat and gently nudged Fenris’ arm with his elbow.

“You’re doing a decent job of the fumbling, then. Figuring out what you like. Dislike. You’re a fan of romances?” Anders asked.

“I’ve enjoyed the ones I’ve read,” Fenris said cautiously. Anders took it as encouragement and continued.

“I have recommendations, if you have the time and inclination. You’re fond of wine. Apples. You can sing and play the lute, which is a sight better than what I do-”

“Please don’t demonstrate your talents for the residents,” Fenris interrupted. “It’s bad enough at Hawke’s place.”

Anders chuckled, but didn’t sing. He sighed with some satisfaction and looked up at the night sky. Dark red clouds hung low over the city. Snow was coming tonight, which would blanket the city in fresh, clean ice. A little poetic. A little… well. This was a new side of, and a new experience with Fenris. Perhaps Fenris was more than a pretty face and sharp tongue. Perhaps speaking with Fenris wouldn’t bring about regrets and sorrow. Perhaps… perhaps like Starsky Marcy Farcy whatever-his-name-was, Fenris was also uncertain and unskilled with people.

Perhaps this was the time for a fresh start, a new beginning.

“The point- the point I’m trying to make, that is- is that you’re finding yourself. Doing what you like. I mean, you decided to look in on me at The Rose of your own volition. That was all you,” Anders said softly. “And if following me around on my house calls to irritate me is the way you’ve decided to find yourself…” Anders paused. Justice was rumbling in his head, arguing that Anders wasn’t truly irritated by Fenris, that he had enjoyed this night-time walk, he liked Fenris’s company, they _both_ were pleased by it- Anders coughed.

“As long as you aren’t getting in the way when I’m healing, I’d be glad for your company,” Anders finished quickly. “It’s nice to… to talk to you like this.”

Fenris nodded. Bit his lip (Maker, he had a nice mouth!). Looked up at the sky. Anders didn’t expect him to say anything, but then Fenris cleared his throat.

“I don’t do it to annoy you, Anders,” he said huskily. Anders’ heart nearly stopped when he heard those words.

“What?” he croaked.

In response, Fenris took his hand in his. His hand was cold, dry, a little chapped from the cold. The calluses on his palm and fingers were rough against Anders’ hands. Yet the way his hand curled around Anders’, the way Fenris gently pulled Anders closer to him in the middle of the dimly lit Lowtown street, right outside his clinic, tugged at Anders’ heart the way few things ever had. Uncertain? Fenris certainly didn’t seem unsure of himself right now as he looked up at Anders with a gaze that was equal parts determined and sweet.

“‘In vain I have struggled, it will not do,’” Fenris murmured, squeezing Anders’ hands in his.

“Stealing our brooding hero’s famous lines, are we?” Anders asked breathlessly, and Fenris’s light giggle was exactly what he needed to hear at this moment. He wasn’t making a foolish misstep here, was he? Fenris was here, looking up at him with his olive green eyes and that half-smile on his face, and he wasn’t running away!

“Borrowing. I have no skill at romance,” Fenris said.

“I find you charming, Fenris,” Anders replied. “Brooding sternness and all.” And it was true, wasn’t it? Fenris could be- he was- terribly charming. He was a mix of contradictions, refined elegance and rough mannerisms, delicate speech and cruel words, grace and brutality all in one man who was trying to figure himself out. And Anders liked Fenris. He liked him a good deal.

“Hmmm. Good,” Fenris whispered. There was a slight tug on Anders’ hand, the faintest bit of insistence, and because Anders was never one to back away from an invitation, he leaned down and pressed his mouth against Fenris’.

Fenris’ nose was cold against his skin, but his mouth warm. His lips were chapped from the cold, and he seemed a bit surprised before he wrestled for control of the kiss. It was clumsy. Unpracticed. It was exactly what Anders wanted- better, even. Fenris’ kisses were like Fenris: contradictions upon contradictions. The moment Anders yielded, Fenris chased and took charge, demanding as much as Anders could give him. Even when Fenris pulled away, he couldn’t seem to resist nipping lightly, playfully, at Anders’ bottom lip. Which, of course, Anders couldn’t let him get away with, so the cycle started all over again until he felt dizzy.

“I disliked seeing you walk out at night alone,” Fenris murmured as he pulled away, his breath mingling with Anders’ in a puff of white mist. “Too dangerous for any of us, but the risk to you-”

“I don’t need protecting, Fenris, I’m a big boy,” Anders teased.

“You don’t need it, but I would like to provide it all the same,” Fenris retorted, which made Anders chuckle before he pulled Fenris back into a quick kiss.

“Had that all planned out, did you?” Anders asked when he moved away. “Walk me home, give me a good night kiss- well, you forgot one thing.”

“Hmmm?”

“Perhaps I don’t like the idea of you walking alone at night either,” Anders said slyly. “It’s a tight fit, but I think I could squeeze you into my clinic for the night…”

“Flirt,” Fenris retorted, but instead of protesting further he pulled Anders back down into another crushing embrace, his mouth insistent on Anders’ own. And as Fenris gave Anders one last good-night kiss, tiny snowflakes fell from the sky to blanket Kirkwall in its first snowfall of the year.

**Author's Note:**

> I took the opportunity to shove in as many Pride and Prejudice references as I could. I couldn't help myself.


End file.
